


How To Make Slime (gone wrong) (gone cultish)

by mercutio (sanguivore)



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Multi-Fandom, Unus Annus - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Dissociation, F/M, Mark has ADD, Not ship-centered, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, Unus Annus, disorientation, expect me to edit titles and/or plot details for clarity/because i second guess everything, idk how to do this haha, mental illness gang's all here, religion(?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguivore/pseuds/mercutio
Summary: “—and we all get to enjoy three years of peace before the Dark Gods consume us all.” Mark said with a smirk.It was just a stupid video. Astupid freakingvideo.How the hell did we get here?Or: Mark, Ethan, and Amy actually do summon the Dark Gods by filming a video, and those gods just so happen to be Unus Annus. Chaos ensues, everyone learns stuff, and I learn the irreplaceableness of thesaurus.com.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	1. a brief prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally inspired by Mark’s video, How To Make Slime (https://youtu.be/V7Xs0MSVAy4); he said that thing about three years (the vid was released January 2018) and my unus annus-starved brain went brrrrrr conspiracy. i’ve had a bunch of ideas bouncing around in my brain since I was introduced to unus annus and Mark’s vid was the straw the inspired the camel to actually put it onto paper.
> 
> this fic has immortal death gods as main characters and i’m mentally ill so expect this to be overdramatic and cringey
> 
> made with the utmost respect to Amy and the boys, PLEASE don’t send this to them or harass them about it or anything of that nature. this is merely for fun.

It was just a stupid video.

A _stupid fucking_ video.

_“—and we all get to enjoy three years of peace before the Dark Gods consume us all.” he had said, smirking back at Mark from his mind’s eye._

How could Mark be so stupid _._ _Fuck._

 _Don’t blame yourself_ , a small voice piped up in the back of his mind. _It was a simple mistake._

_You didn’t know what the hell you were doing. You were just making a dumb video._

_Goddammit._ Mark sucked in a breath and clenched his teeth. His eyes crashed shut. “ _just a video”_

“Well that fucking video got us here!” Mark shouted into the emptiness, his voice reverberating back to him like a slap in the face.

He exhaled weightily and rubbed his watery eyes, as if turning everything back to normal was as easy as wiping his frustrated tears away. He turned to look at Ethan and Amy beside him, consumed by a storm of thoughts.

How the hell did we get here?

 **03:01:59:46**  
...................  
The distant click-clacking of Ethan and Amy readjusting the cameras shook Mark from his trance staring at his blurred reflection in the glossy white table in front of him. He squinted and looked up at them.

“You good to go, Mark?” Amy tried not to let her slight worry seep into her tone as she finished with her camera, focusing the center frame on Mark’s furrowed brows. 

Something was off today. Something was…she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Just _different_. The thought was a small shadow in the back of her mind. She looked back at the camera and shifted the angle slightly, then shrugged to herself. It was probably fine.

Amy blinked. What had she been worried about? She couldn’t really remember.

Mark shifted the shaving cream cans one more time so they’d be even and tried to ground himself in the small sound of the canisters clacking. _Focus focus focus._

“Yeah, we’re good.” he replied, the small smirk that came back to his face chased away what remained of Amy’s worries, a flashlight in a dimly lit cave.

Mark took a stance behind the table and looked directly at the camera in front of him, the one Amy was behind. Ethan stood at her left, holding the other camera and fidgeting a little in anticipation.

“Cool, cool. How to make slime, take whatever!” Amy said, rolling her eyes at Mark exaggeratedly, “Action!”

Mark made a face and rolled his eyes in response. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” he muttered, hunched over. He breathed in, held the breath for 4 seconds, then exhaled. _What is_ wrong _with me today?_

He shook his head and pulled himself up back into position and into character.

“Hi. My name is Markiplier and today I’m gonna be telling you all about the wonderful world—“ he paused for effect, and looked directly at Amy, to which she made a gag face and then tried to hold back a smile (to no avail).

“—of slime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is basically a glorified summary i promise the next chaps won’t be as small lmao
> 
> this is my first RPF fic and the second fic I’ve ever written and published, so criticism/notes/feedback is really appreciated. i’m not 100% sure where exactly this fic is going to go, but I have a vague idea in my mind and intend to complete it. my mental health is pretty shit rn, so it might be a while in between updates, but I’ll try to be as quick as possible. i’m going to try and post the next chapter tomorrow.
> 
> thanks for reading, stay hydrated :D


	2. where it all went wrong, according to Mark Fischbach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the title is kinda self-explanatory also i’m bad at writing summaries :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a (very) belated new years present for those that celebrate it!
> 
> as far as i’m aware, ethan wasn’t actually there for the filming or editing of the Slime video. he’s here for plot reasons, in his own words: don’t worry abt it 😘  
> long note warning at the end, but there’s a tldr underneath it!
> 
> as always, this is fanfiction. please don’t send this to any of the ppl this fic is about or harass them abt it. this is my interpretation of their online personas, not a reflection of how i actually think they are irl — which none of us know or have any right to assume.

Mark clicked the ‘upload video’ button with his mouse and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his pointer finger pressing a little too hard on the plastic. His eyes reflected the bright blue progress bar on the computer screen, and he silently willed it to go faster. A distant drum of thunder rang above him, background noise that reminded him of that twitter post about hearing boss music in real life.

He looked at the time at the bottom of the screen, bouncing a leg hastily under his work desk and started counting rain droplets splattering against the window behind him. _...4 5 6._ **3:51pm.**

He felt restless, like there was something he needed to do, or something important he’d forgotten. _I just finished filming, like, three goddamn videos. What more do you want, brain?_

He propped his heavy head on his hand, elbow on the edge of the desk, and moved his mouse in a lackadaisical circle with his other, watching the cursor shift lazily around the little white numbers. He stared at their still reticence for maybe thirty seconds, then they fizzled, flickered, and simply ceased to be.

**00:00:00:00**

His hand dropped from his chin and thudded on the desk, causing a few pens to scatter and slide to a sheer corner. _This one starting to glitch already?_

He blinked and leaned in closer, peering at the tiny pixelated numbers. 3:52pm stared back at him. _Trick of the light. Probably just tired._ He rubbed his eyes and sighed again into his hands.

“Anything, um,” Amy spoke, gently swaying on a chair behind him, studying the back of his tense shoulders bunching up the pale pink sweatshirt he was wearing. “...planned for dinner?”

Amy winced when he flinched at her words, then pretended not to notice when he swiveled haphazardly in his chair to face her. One of his pens hit the carpet.

“Uh. I’ll just DoorDash something—I’m kinda tired.” He offered her a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“O-okay...” _Maybe he’s just hyper-focused on his vids..._ Amy remembered when she walked into the room and he'd clearly seen her several hours ago. _Or something._ She shifted hesitantly from her chair and walked over to Mark. When she stood in front of him, she met his eyes, then placed her hand on his shoulder and embraced him. He leaned a little into her touch and when they separated, he took her hand in his. His fake smile sagged into a timid frown as his eyes broke from hers and followed their hands shifting to his knees, thumb slowly rubbing over the ridges of both their knuckles. He felt his eyes swell with unshed tears.

Surprised at the shock of sudden emotion and ashamed of himself, he tried to blink the tears away along with what he was feeling. _I can’t cry in front of...sh-she can’t see me cry._ He sighed for what, to him, seemed the millionth time that day. _I wish I knew why I feel like this._

“You know you can talk to me if something’s wrong, right? I really don’t mind if—“

“No, no. it’s—I’m completely fine!” Mark cut her and the rest of his thoughts off and met her eyes, pulling back on a weak smile and clutching her hand tighter, almost like he thought she’d float away. “And, uh, you worked...hard today, so you should, y’know...rest and stuff.”

Amy looked down at their entangled hands, and squeezed back. “Mark, I—“ A flash of white stopped her words in their tracks and blinked in front of her eyes. _Lightning from outside?_ Or just her imagination. Or—

“Aagh!” Mark yelled and jumped back out of the chair, knocking it over. His shoulder blades crashed against the wall, and the abrupt racket of the chair clattering on the floor seem to explode in Amy’s ears. _The hell?_

He froze and looked immediately to her, eyes wide with worry.  
“Amy, are you ok?! I’m sorry—“ He held up his hands in remorse.

“Mark, you’re _bleeding—_ “

She took the back of his left hand—slowly, so she wouldn’t hurt him—and turned it for him to see. A paper-thin stripe of red bisected the middle of his palm. His eyes widened further, then met Amy’s.

She inhaled quietly. It was just a cut, probably from something on his desk, but everything about it felt very, _very_ wrong, and a thought buzzed in the back of her mind, some distant memory.  
“What the hell?” Mark muttered, frown returning and eyebrows furrowing.  
”Where, _how_ did—ahh— _burns_ …” He clenched his teeth and held his breath as his fingers curled inward and the water returned to his eyes.

Amy felt like she couldn’t think, like some switch had flipped inside her mind and filled it with a heavy fog. “I should,” Amy released his hand. “...get something for that.” She ran to the adjacent bathroom, almost slamming into the door, her brain desperately trying to catch up with her legs.

Mark shuffled behind her, embarrassed at himself for jumping and scaring her. _Really freaking hurts_. He pressed his hand into his sweatshirt to staunch the rapidly increasing bleeding, and gritted his teeth further. _Oww_. Small dark spots dotted the edge of his vision as he looked up at the off-white ceiling. A deep, booming thunderclap ripped through the sky above, much closer than before.

Amy grabbed a grey hand towel. _We’ve got to have bandages or Neosporin or something in here somewhere..._ She was sifting through the wooden drawers when she heard a thud on the carpet behind her. She spun around and sped through the bathroom doorway. “Mark!”

She knelt down over him, limp on the floor, incoherent clouds of thoughts fizzing through her head at a thousand miles an hour.  
“Shit, shit, _shit_ , please be ok...”

His head had barely missed the hard tile of the bathroom, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt. She pressed the towel to his hand and propped his head on her lap, then shook at his shoulders.

“Mark!? Mark—“

Her hands slipped to his cheeks.

“MARK?! Mark, please!”

Her view of Mark's face blurred and teardrops fell onto his chest, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care to. Mark groaned. She could see his eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids but he wasn’t opening them. He looked trapped, curled in on himself—he looked _terrified_.

“Mark? I’m gonna call 911, okay? Mark, hang in there!” She reached for the phone in her back pocket.

Mark whimpered and mumbled something incomprehensible. He shook off the towel Amy had wrapped on his hand and reached blindly with his hand in front of his face. Then, his hand tensed up and collided with Amy’s shoulder. It stayed there, holding on for dear life. Amy could feel his blood dripping down her arm. She sobbed and held him close, trying to calm him down. She felt hopeless, like something was ending or beginning, far out of her control. Something was tearing Mark away from her.

 **1094:59:33:02**  
.......................  
It was white. _So white_. It washed over Mark’s still, silent body like mist.

His head thudded against the ground. His vision was white and his ears rang. He felt like he was underwater, the sounds of his hands and knees scraping against the icy floor were muffled as a pulled himself up. His entire body ached, as if he’d been running for miles with weights on his back. There was a constant pressure that made his every movement an effort, thick and slow.

The brightness of everything seemed to reach behind his shut eyelids and stab at his mind. He could feel (more so than hear) a low humming, as if wherever he was was vibrating at a turbulent frequency. However, at the same time, the whole place felt quiet and empty. He groaned and rubbed his eyes.

Nothing happened. The world stayed white. He ran his hand over his eyes again. It was like he hadn’t even moved them in the first place.

_Where the fuck am I—_

The mist seeped into Mark, chilling him to his core. He was groggy, half-asleep.

“...ark! Wake—“ he heard Amy’s voice, but it drifted in and out, like static on a radio station, or like they were in the pool back home, fooling around under the water.  
“Uh-Amy?” Mark mumbled and reached out for her beside him, but all he could find was cold, dead emptiness.  
“...gon—call…hang in th—“ her voice buzzed and lingered in the air in front of him, but he couldn’t see her.  
He couldn’t see _anything_.  
“Amy?!”

He tried to feel around for a wall or a light switch or something, _anything_ , but after stumbling around for a few minutes he realized he was probably in some open space. He let out a bated breath and shakily stood up.

He could feel his breath start to seize up behind his ribcage, like a balloon filling with helium, ready to pop. “Hhh—“ He put a hand over his eyes, but the light was still there, still everywhere. _So_ _bright_. Were his eyes even open in the first place? Did he _have_ eyes?

He clasped his hands around himself and hugged tightly. He was _freezing_. If he had the ability to make anything out beside the jarring brightness, he’d probably see the air condensating in front of his face when he exhaled.

“ **Mark**.”

Something _nudged_ at him. His voice? It—it _sounded_ like Mark’s, but it wasn’t…it was different. And he couldn’t remember opening his mouth.  
 _Where’s_ _my mouth?_ The thought numbly sank to the bottom of his mind. He felt his fingers on his lips and his eyelids flickered while the blank everything remained still. He felt dazed.

“What?” He responded eloquently, because _what the fuck_ but partly to reassure himself that he still had a mouth, still had a voice, still had some semblance of _control_. “Hello?” he tried again, the words pitter-pattering and stumbling into the silence somewhere in front of him.

The rumbling of the everything grew deeper and deeper, shifting in waves. It was almost like it was drumming evenly, like a metronome. Back and forth, back and forth. Mark listened to the rhythm, following the time signature in his head and feeling it pushing against his chest. The deafening oscillations circled around him and instead of being grounded in the noise it only served to push him further into panic. _It sounds like a—like some kind of clock._

_Tick_

**Tock**

This barren reality bent over Mark. The fabric of space was folding, like he was sitting on a piece of notebook paper as a metaphysical giant folded it into origami.

The fold creased some feet in front of him. He heard a sound similar to a building settling that battered at his ears, and the fold was suddenly as smooth as glass. Then, flaring into existence on the sharp surface, was Mark’s reflection.

_A. A mirror?_

He lifted his arm, but mirror-Mark stayed still. In the reflection, he was wearing an untouched, impeccably white suit and tie. Mark was pretty sure he didn't own a white suit and tie.

He moved closer, the image of his body in front of him coming more into focus as the ticks slipped past his ears. Intricate spiral and flower designs embroidered the vest underneath his jacket in the reflection.

_whatthehell_

His arm extended out tentatively, fingers reaching toward the entity. His heartbeat sped up in his throat as the ticking matched it beat for beat. He felt like he was outside of his body, watching it all happen around him, in a theater seat behind his aching eyes. He was distant from this, somehow, and it took what seemed an eternity to just reach at the reflection; it looked so close to him but felt so far away.

His fingers finally reached past the surface and collided with his reflection’s face, and a violent shiver ran through the everything around him. The reflection-that-wasn’t felt hollow and cold as Death itself. Mark’s breathing quickened. His reflection’s closed eyes were— _Closed eyes? Wait—_

Mark was shoved back by an invisible force, like a wall slamming into him, and the eyes opened slowly, nonchalantly, without any sense of the urgency bursting through Mark.

His eyes were pure white, with no pupil or iris. They glowed with a vicious power, even brighter than the devoid white background. The figure seemed to radiate a deep and ancient energy Mark knew he’d never begin to understand.

“ **It’s rude to just go up and poke at strangers, Mark.** ” His voice knocked around Mark’s skull until he had a dull headache.

“I’m guessing you’re not my fucking reflection, then.” Mark groaned and rubbed his forehead. The Not-Mark chuckled, a rumbling stolen from Mark’s lungs.

Mark swallowed. His throat felt dry.

“ **No, I don’t think so** ,” murmured the Not-Mark, hand meeting his chin. His pupil-less eyes shifted over Mark. Mark crossed his arms again, overexposed and isolated.

_what is happening where am I where’s Amy is she okay am I okay am I alive_

“ **Although** ," He paused. " **That may be somewhat closer to me than you might think**.” His lips pulled into a tight smile and he clasped his arms behind his back. His (their? do fever-dream entities have genders?) voice felt like a gong in Mark’s head. Each syllable was a strike of the mallet against his skull. It was off the tempo of his heartbeat and the brutalizing ticking that surrounded him and did nothing to ease his headache.

Mark brought his hands to the sides of his head and held it, letting his weight rest on his invisible, deceptively stable palms. “Where’s—where is Amy?” He sputtered out.

He couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t have lungs.  
 _Lungs? My lungs are here_ —he grabbed at his chest, but couldn’t see it. Everything was just white, and folds, and the figure, the Not-Mark in the center of it all, holding it together with his deafening, crushing presence.

“ **You don’t need to worry about her**.”

Something about the way his words echoed in the barren space made Mark worry regardless. He could feel a cold sweat running down the back of his neck. He put his hand there and winced. Salt from his sweat seeped into the wound on his palm. _Blood…_  
 _I’m bleeding._  
 _I’m still bleeding._  
 _I need to leave get me out get me OUT—_

He swallowed oxygen that wasn’t there, blew out air that didn’t exist. In and out and in and out and in, but he _didn’t have_ a body so _how_ could he—

“ _Annus, you’re going to send him into shock, for fuck’s sake—you have no clue how to deal with humans. This is why I said you should just let me handle it; we can’t kill another one_—“ Another voice, a higher voice, pierced into the right of Mark’s skull. It sounded like—

“Ethan?” Mark whispered between hyperventilations.

“ **KILL? You’re one to talk about killing**!” the Not-Mark’s (Annus’?) voice was a roiling storm cloud and the everything around Mark convulsed and split at its seams. He felt bile rise to his throat and dizziness wash over him.

“ _Just—ugh, let me do it_!” the Not-Ethan voice crackled back in defiance against the Not-Mark.

“F-fucking hell—“ Mark was loosing his footing. On what? Hell if he knew, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, find his balance.

The fabric of reality ripped with a shriek beside the Not-Mark. Inky blackness began to spill from the rips into the white everything. The dark was just as painful and searing to Mark as the blankness, but instead of pushing onto him it was like it was sucking the life from his bones, pulling at him. Seeping from the rips, flitting in and out like a hologram with a bad connection he saw Ethan’s familiar frame.

No, wait, _Not-Ethan_. Mark was drawn immediately to his eyes (by choice or by force he didn’t know), a deep darkness that Mark suffocated under for days or milliseconds.

“ _Mark, listen to me_.” the Not-Ethan’s eyes yanked at his psyche as he stared Mark down, paralyzing him.

Mark felt like he was falling. Or drowning. His limbs were jelly.

“ _You have three years left. On the 15th day of the penultimate November, we will be here. You both must be ready_.”

The Not-Ethan’s face filled Mark’s eyesight, and at the same time was feet away, next to the Not-Mark. His words lacerated Mark’s eardrums, but he was filled with a sudden calm. Like he was floating…

His eyes unfocused involuntarily and he looked between the two figures, barely able to comprehend what was in front of him. He tried to force himself to focus and reign in his mutinous brain, but the rigidity of this world continued to break down, melting and dripping over his consciousness.

The dark and light swirled and mingled together like ink in water, the ink slowly consuming more of his blurred vision. _Octopus ink..._ Mark contemplated.

But he didn’t worry. He was floating. He was okay. _Who am I?_

It didn’t really **mat t e r .**

“ **See, now you’re going to kill him! Just like I said, you’re pushing him too far, he’s not even going to remember**!” the Not-Mark barked, shoulders tensed and fists raised.

“ _I’ve got this, Annus_...” the Not-Ethan hissed at him. He swished his hand, and Mark was suddenly falling again. Then, everything just stopped, and his feet stood on solid ground.

 _My feet?_ He looked down; he could _see_ his _feet_. He could _feel_ soft grass tickling his toes. He wiggled them and giggled lightly, suddenly feeling unbelievably happy. _Wonder where my shoes went—_

A whisper swam through the thickening air, barely reaching his Mark’s right ear, and he felt his shoulder brush against something. He dazedly turned his head to look and saw a person shaking beside him.

 _Ethan! The real Ethan’s here! He can join the fun!_ He chuckled and squinted, trying to focus in on Ethan’s face. _Why does he look so scared?_

“M-Mark—“

“Awww, don’t be so scarrred, Ethan!” Mark interrupted with a bright smile and grabbed Ethan’s shoulder. “These guys jus’ wanna playyy…” He slurred, loud in Ethan’s ear. Mark swayed absentmindedly and rested his head on Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan bristled and sucked in a breath, trying not to panic. He closed his eyes even though it didn’t really make a difference and tried to calm himself.

“ **Great, now he’s fucking broken. You broke him. Fantastic job, Unus**.” the Not-Mark pouted and crossed his arms over his chest.

“ _He’ll be fine, humans are much more resilient than you think_—“

“ **You just got done telling me how fragile they are**!”

“ _It doesn’t even matter because I brought the other one anyways, so just...shut up and help_!” Not-Ethan bared his teeth at him.

Mark giggled again, “They sure fuckin’ argue a lot, huh, Eef?” He mumbled and looked back at Ethan, nearly cross-eyed.

“ **That’s becoming irritating**.” the Not-Mark gave Not-Ethan a pointed stare. Not-Ethan glared back and stuck his tongue out at him, then shot a smirk at Mark and snapped his fingers. The sliding motions of his black fingernails captured Mark’s apathetic gaze.

The snap pulsed into Mark. He felt he could hear it in his soul. _Do souls have ears?_ He almost laughed again at the thought, when a heavy feeling of dread weighed down on Mark’s shoulders. He could feel gravity pulling him into the ground, just barely refraining from crushing him into dust.

He tripped and fell. The ground was hard and unforgiving and he felt a sharp pain in his hip. Air rushed around him, roaring in his ears. His head hurt _so fucking bad_. He breathed. In and oooout. He glared at Ethan’s shoes.  
His vision blurred further.

“ _He can’t be here much longer, the strain is too much on his mind_.” the Not-Ethan said to Not-Mark, placing a hand on his shoulder and frowning, suddenly serious and devoid of any jest. The Not-Mark met his eyes and nodded.

“ **Listen to me, Ethan** ,” Not-Mark began, clean-slate eyes piercing into the petrified man, and Mark’s consciousness flickered desperately like a wild flame dying out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. i may have had a teensy-weensy tiny little existential crisis after posting the first chap. i posted it and was so excited and then everything that could ever go wrong went wrong.
> 
> there’s uh a lot i want to do with this fic and so much i want to write and put into it. and i’m kind of scared. not so much after writing all this out but still. 
> 
> i’m scared of being ridiculed for writing rpf even though i don’t ship ppl irl and this isn’t a shippy fic. i’m scared of making something dumb and cringey that no one thinks is worth reading. i don’t want to let anyone down.
> 
> i don’t have as much experience with writing as i’d like to, at least writing fanfics. i really want to make this fic the best it can be; i don’t want to be lazy and half-ass it like i do with everything else haha. Ttis is kind of a passion project and I know i’m putting a lot into a stupid rpf fic and i can’t expect perfection but that’s what i want it to be. idk. It’s really hard to explain. i’m a perfectionist with adhd and that’s as close as i’ll get to understanding it. 
> 
> i want this to be my dedication to unus annus and what it meant/means to me. i want to pour all my emotions into it. which is harder than i thought.
> 
> on another note, someone in my family passed, and dealing with those emotions and planning for the funeral and stuff has definitely placed this on the backburner. writing fics might lowkey become a new unhealthy coping mechanism to ignore/escape how I’m feeling :D  
> but it's definitely amplified every scared, weird feeling i have. idrk what to do.
> 
> i posted the first chapter more as a commitment to myself — that i’d actually try to finish and post this fic instead of just hiding in my notes never to see the light of day. i want to be a part of this community, and maybe this isn’t the best way to go about it but it’s the only way i know how to rn.
> 
> this is getting long and preachy and rambly akfhejekkake anyways this isn’t really anyone’s fault but mine. i take a long time to do everything so i don’t know why i thought i could finish this fic so quickly. i still plan on finishing it. just know it will take a while, and i apologize in advance haha.
> 
> tldr: a family member died and i’m dealing with existential emotions. mental health sucks and adhd is def not helping. i don’t know how long it will be but it will definitely be a while in between chapters for this fic
> 
> on a higher note, the vague outline for my plan for the story has gotten slightly less vague-ish, so that’s cute i guess.
> 
> stay safe, stay warm, and thank you so much for reading :)


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